


The Most Naked Thing of All

by MonsterTesk



Series: Apparel [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets himself into some fucking hot water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Naked Thing of All

**Author's Note:**

> It's three in the morning. All my friends are married or pregnant or fucked up. I'm too old to be a grown up. 
> 
>  
> 
> This takes place at some vague time way after 'Clothes' as well as basically everything else in this verse. I said I'd write things but I never said I'd do it in order. So. Yeah. Have this. Why? BECAUSE.

Stiles sighs, letting his jeans drop to the floor. It’s been a long week of finals and he’s glad to have them done with and be back in his home with Chris. Now he can relax in the bath, talk to Chris, and play some dumb video games with Scott without looming essays, tests, and reading assignments. It’s gonna be great.

“Erica is coming over tomorrow afternoon. I told her not to show up before two,” Chris says, pacing about in the bedroom as he unpacks Stiles’ duffle.

Stiles smiles, leaning on the counter to lift his good leg out of his jeans.

“So expect her at one.”

“Uh huh. Do you have anything going on day after tomorrow?”

Now nude, Stiles presses his hand flat to the wall and leans down, turning the faucet off with a quick flick of his wrist then dips his fingers into the water. It’s a little on the hot side but not too much.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

Stiles hears feet on the floor pause outside the bathroom door. He looks over his shoulder, catching Chris staring at Stiles’ ass. Stiles grins, wriggles the body part in question. Chris’ eyes are slow to move away.

“I was thinking we could go to the movies or something. Maybe go out to dinner.”

Stiles hums, shifting. Getting into the bathtub is never what one would call a bike ride for him.

“Sounds nice. Wanna try that new burrito place off of biz-eighty?”

Chris moves, shifting so his arms are crossed.

“I was thinking some place more along the lines of the Elephant Bar.”

Stiles shrugs then perches half on the edge of the tub, reaching out for the grip-bar on the other side.

“If you feel like spoiling a man who’d be just as happy at In N Out then who am I to deny you?”

Chris is silent for a few seconds, long enough that Stiles wants to look over at him but he’s got his right leg hovering over the water and trying to balance in such a way that he doesn’t fall in and give himself a concussion as he takes his good leg off the floor and swings it over the side of the tub. Again. Convincing Melissa once that it hadn’t been a sex-related injury had been hard enough; he doesn’t want to repeat the experience.

“I just want to go someplace nice, what’s so wrong with that?” Chris mutters.

“Noth—fuck!”

Stiles’ grip fails, hand sliding off the bar. He flails, falling ass-first into the water.

“Chris!” Stiles shouts, hands clumsy in alarm as he reaches for the grip bar, attempting to pull himself out. Fuck. It’s hotter than he thought. “Burns!” His head ends up underwater for a little bit.  

“Help!”

He manages to flail a good six more times before Chris’ hands are at his armpits, hauling him out of the tub.

“Shit!”

Stiles yelps as they crash to the floor then laughs, chest pressed against Chris’, feet still hanging onto the tub’s edge.

“Ohmyfuck,” Stiles wheezes, safely cushioned by Chris’ body. Grateful, he kisses Chris’ cheek, his jaw, his neck.

“Christ,” Chris groans out, letting his head fall back against the floor. “You OK, baby?”

Stiles nods, heart racing, knee screaming at him. He’s gonna need so many drugs later to deal with this.

“Yeah, just peachy. Thanks.”

Chris smiles, runs his hands up and down Stiles’ sides as if he thinks he’s being sneaky checking for injuries. Stiles breathes out slowly, trying to get his heart to beat normally. He presses his face into Chris’ neck, moving his arms into a position not as awkward.

“I think it’s time to put that sticky stuff on the bar.”

Stiles nods. The floor is wet, Stiles is wet, Chris is wet. What a fucking failcat Stiles is.

“How do you even live with me? Like seriously.”

Chris huffs out a laugh, moving a hand to maneuver Stiles’ head so he can leave little kisses across Stiles’ chin.

“Easily, and with pleasure.”

Stiles grins, smoothes Chris’ hair back, and kisses Chris once, hard.

“You’re so sweet; marry me,” he says, flippant, grateful. Not thinking.

Chris’ eyes go wide, lips slowly parting, and Stiles sees terror and the real fear there. His heart rate, barely starting to settle, skyrockets.

“ _Shit,_ I didn’t—no. That’s not how—I mean, I don’t—mmf”

Stiles stares, eyes wide, at Chris as Chris kisses him, hands balled up against Stiles’ skull. Stiles groans. He didn’t mean to say that. He didn’t mean to put— _that_ on the table even in a joking way because it’s scary and he doesn’t know if Chris wants it and Chris has already been… and his ex-wife is terrifying and—yeah.

Chris pulls Stiles’ bottom lip between his own and sucks lightly, left hand sliding down to cup Stiles’ neck. Stiles breaths out through his nose, licks the notch in Chris’ upper lip and pulls back.

“I wasn’t going to—Since Allison and Scott just got married, but,” Chris pauses to laugh. “You sort of beat me to it.”

Stiles frowns and lifts himself up into a weird half-pushup. He can’t seriously be doing this, can he?

“What?”

Chris scrunches up, kisses Stiles, then relaxes back down onto the floor.

“Will you marry me?”

Stiles’ mouth drops open. He stares. A little loading bar with the word PROCESSING flashes across his brain shortly followed by 404: NOT FOUND.

“What?”

Chris bites his lip, looks to the right, possibly at the dent in the wall from the time Stiles tried to pee while drunk on shitty absinthe.

“Marry me?”

Stiles frowns, shakes his head, frowns harder, and stares at the tiny little hopeful look on Chris’ face.

“You’re joking, right? I mean, you don’t really want to marry me, do you?”

Chris shrugs, fingers hesitant as they touch Stiles’ sides.

“I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you if you’ll have me.”

Stiles isn’t sure he’s ever frowned so hard in his life. This isn’t happening. He hit his head on the tub, drowned a little bit, and is currently hallucinating.

“I got a ring. I’ve… I’ve had it for a while now, actually.”

Chris sounds so shy and nervous about this. Part of Stiles’ brain is screaming about how adorable he is and how he wants to do _things_ to him but the majority of his brain is scrambling hard to process this. He’s thought about it, he has. A lot, if he’s being honest with himself. He just thought… something that made it seem impossible, that made the whole idea of him and Chris and married in the same sentence seem anachronistic.

“You bought a ring?”

Chris nods.

“A while ago?”

Again, Chris nods, fingers fidgeting over Stiles’ hips.

“You want to get married.”

Chris smiles at Stiles this small, tiny little thing.

“To me. Stiles.”

“Yes.”

Stiles squints at him, leans in close.

“ _Did you hit your head?_ ”

Chris laughs, smile still in place but Stiles can see the strain in it, feel the tension slowly building in the body below him.

“No, I didn’t hit my head.”

“You just want to marry me.”

“Yes, I want to marry you, Mister Stilinski.”

Stiles takes in a big breath, stomach swooping with something he can’t identify. He feels weird and naked and scared under Chris’ tense watch. He kind of wants to throw up except the only place he can reach right now is Chris’ face and that wouldn’t be so good.

“I… OK. OK!” Stiles nods, letting the breath out of his lungs. “I will totally marry you.”

Chris’ face lights up like a billion suns in the sky. Smile so wide, Stiles could practically see the dents in the back of his mouth from where he got his wisdom teeth extracted when he was seventeen. He hugs Stiles so tight that Stiles can’t breath a little but it’s cool, it’s totally fine. He doesn’t need lungs anyway. Apparently he’s got a fiancé so fuck lungs.

They kiss but it’s mostly just teeth and breath, both too busy grinning and laughing to do their first kiss as engaged properly. It doesn’t take long for it to turn frantic, grasping, celebratory. Stiles is totally down with that. Completely, one trillion percent down with making out like idiots on the wet bathroom floor. Until he bashes his knee on the toilet trying to reposition himself.

It takes them five minutes to make it to the bed only because Stiles really doesn’t like to be carried and Chris is too nice to do it anyway.

Stiles lays there propped against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, leg up on a pillow, considering the little pill container of vicoden in his nightstand as Chris drains the tub and puts towels down on the floor. Now with his heart settled and Chris not kissing him, he realizes they can’t actually get married. Civil unioned, yes, but not married-married with a fancy piece of paper that says marriage at the top in calligraphy. He wonders if they’ll just go down to the courthouse one day, no ceremony, no officiator aside from a judge, the witnesses whomever is in line behind them, sign a paper, and call it a day. It’d be like signing up for classes except more permanent. Is one of them going to change their name? Do two dudes do that?

Chris Stilinski. Stiles Argent. Chris Argent-Stilisnki. Stiles Stilinski-Argent. Chris Stilinski-Argent. Stiles Argent-Stilinski.

Why did they both have such weird names?

Would Chris even want to change his name? Is that allowed with civil unions? Stiles has no idea. He’s going to have to read through the laws on this, check out common practices and what judges aren’t assholes about marrying same-sex couples. And speaking of the law, how is he supposed to tell his dad that he’s engaged? Should he call him now or, like, set up a father-son date so he can break it to him gently over burgers and fries? What about the rest of his family? He knows ‘Dia will flip a gasket if she finds out last and Erica will probably physically harm something if Stiles doesn’t tell Scott first thing but if he tells Scott then Allison will know and does Chris want to be the one to tell her? Does he want to tell everyone with Stiles? Should they set up some weird homage to nineties-family-gathering-type movies and tell them all over some stressfully prepared turkey and mashed potatoes?

Chris kisses Stiles’ ear. Stiles gasps, flailing.

“Stop thinking so loud.”

Stiles glares at him. Chris smiles, somehow magically sitting on the bed next to Stiles. When did he even get there? He holds out his hand to Stiles, palm down. Stiles reaches out with a shaky hand, fingers curled. He takes a deep breath, opens his hand.

Chris gently places something small and metal in his palm.

Stiles retracts his hand, resisting the urge to scream in a less than manly fashion, and looks down.

“Oh. Wow.”

Chris shifts in his spot next to Stiles, looking down at Stiles’ hand.

“Do you like it?”

It’s silver – of course – but there’s something dark and dull embedded in the metal. Maybe wooden.

“I had it custom built. Silver base. Mountain ash inlay. The pattern is simple but—”

“I really want to put your dick in my mouth right now,” Stiles blurts out, turning his head to stare at Chris.

Chris turns red from the collar up to his eyeballs instantaneously.

He clears his throat. 

“So you like it?”

Stiles nods furiously and shoves it onto his finger as quick as he can. It’s heavy, solid; he can feel the zing of mountain ash around his finger. He pauses a moment to blink at his now covered ring finger. Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

**Holy shit.**

“ _Fuck yes,_ ” Stiles hisses, lurching across the space between them. He shoves Chris onto his back and climbs him like a fucking rockwall, groping at anything he can get his hands on, ignoring his protesting knee. Now is not the time to think about pain. Chris laughs this light noise like church bells and singing until he’s groaning, back arched a little off the bed.

Stiles puts his mouth _everywhere_ , extremely dedicated to the thought that if he licks it, it’s his. And, he is. Chris is his. And he is Chris'. 

“I’m going to marry the shit out of you, you precious fucking angel,” Stiles mutters, mouths at Chris’ neck while he does everything he can think of with his hands on Chris’ brilliant body, loving the weight and added sensation of his new ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Again. Un-proofread, uncaring, not thought out. Hope you at least wasted your time well with me. I have no idea what I just did. It's now five thirty or something in the morning and I make poor life choices. Someone come put me in bed; I shouldn't be on the internet right now.


End file.
